WHO: Gretel and Bruce Banner WHEN: backdated to before the scenario WHERE: Gretel's room WHAT: The two talk about magic. WARNINGS: low. STATUS: gdoc, completed in comments.
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Delta’s vision of a diverse and expressive group of specimens to oversee had, in many ways, come to fruition; by now, the ‘creative space’ off the side of each bedroom had been used for some distinct and different purpose- some more intricate and obvious than others. For the last four days, the atmosphere near Gretel’s suite door very much reflected the woman that existed within, regardless of her having absolutely no intent to do so. The aroma of wood smoke often permeated the area, as well as certain herbs, a hint of apples, and the acrid tang of flint and gun oil. Lately, the heady smell of roses was added to the perfume, thick and warm as the air after a bath.
More of it wafted into the hall when Gretel opened the door, summoned by a knock she didn’t recognize- not Hansel (he usually came in without asking), not Sam or Raven (who each had their own distinct way of announcing themselves); though she was wearing the standard petal-pink dress given to the women of Delta- begrudgingly- sitting loosely around her waist on the chiffon skirt was a sword belt of hewn leather- given to her when she was made to play the role of ‘gym leader’ months ago. The short blade and her two curved daggers were all sheathed on it, housed in leather that matched the roughly sewn heat protective gloves that reached near her elbows, and the thin throng that tied the end of her loosely braided hair, currently dropped over her shoulder; there were two small smudges of soot on her face, cutting across her freckled cheek and nose, where she’d scratched an itch.
“...Bruce Banner,” she greeted after a few split seconds to recognize the man at her door, and the name that went with him. Mostly it was his eyes that connected the memory- on the network, she thought they looked kind. “How are you…”
---
Bruce decided he needed to make friends. Being lonely for so long isn’t good for the soul. And a lot of people were mad at him for disappearing. Even Tony seemed upset, and Tony never got upset with Bruce. It made him want to retreat into himself but instead he decided to reach out. Chirrut and Gretel, maybe even Diana. He could make friends. He had grown since he was the shy professor at Culver.
Wearing the pink button up with the pink vest, Bruce felt a little better. He didn’t dress down well, it always felt disrespectful. He just preferred to look presentable. Besides, Delta’s casual clothes were a little more revealing.
He was interested in Gretel’s work on many levels. Firstly, science from magic. Secondly, dreamless sleep would help him and many others-- especially those in the arena. Thirdly, it might just be cool. He was always open for new tricks and discoveries. “Gretel,” he returned “I’m not bothering you, am I? I just thought I’d drop by and see what you’re working on. The smells are attracting me. Is magic really just plants and incantations?”
--- “Uh- no,” she started, processing exactly how to answer his last question before fully addressing the first. “Not bothering- come in...:” She held the door open with her back so he could cross the threshold, then shut the door behind him and gestured with the other hand toward the ‘black box’ room beyond the bed- which was still a bit disheveled, unmade from the last evening. The entire queen mattress had been used.
“At the moment, I’m just boiling the shit out of as many roses as Hansel could find,” she explained, entering the ‘creative space’ behind him- hers had been transformed into a sort of rustic kitchen- with a side of blacksmith, woodsmith, and armory. She had a wood fire in a thick protective kiln, a cast iron ‘cauldron’- or the modern equivalent- over the flames, several different bowls and containers of herbs and spices she’d pilfered from the cafeteria, kitchens, and wherever else she found them, and several other odds and ends positioned in no discernible organized way. “It’s not the best way to get oil, but ...it is what it is. As far as your question, no…” she went on as she watched him with quiet curiosity, peeling off her gloves one finger at a time. “There’s a lot more to it than that- though the average murder-happy hillbilly thinks that’s enough to burn a woman for.”
---
Bruce looked out of the corner of his eye at her room. It obviously wasn’t much different than his, except he made his bed. The pinks were blinding and he didn’t spend much time snooping.
A look of genuine joy appeared on his face. “Whoa! You got quite a set up here. Reminds me of college chemistry class.” Bruce found a corner out of the way and planted himself firmly in it. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and folded his arms.
“Did they try to burn you? I thought you were a witch hunter? Or is it Wizard of Oz rules, bad witches and good witches?”
---
By the look on her face, it was clear the Wizard of Oz reference went way over her head, but at least the context was there.
“White witches and dark witches,” she corrected simply. “White witches are born, dark witches are made… all are female, at least in my world.” It had taken her a while to fully accept that her reality was only one possibility among the many that existed here, in this place, through the histories and lives of the other captives. She’d make it a point to ask about Bruce’s. “My mother was a powerful white witch who was burned by her village, but Hansel and I didn’t know that until… fairly recently.”
She set her gloves down on the rough working table and moved to the boiling pot, using the tip of one blade to skim the oil from the surface of the simmering concoction, and fill a small vial in her other hand, a few drops at a time. There were already two similar vials filled and sitting on the table nearby. “He and I grew up hunting dark witches- saving poor country women from ignorant assholes trying to burn them from spite became part of the territory.”
----
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. Yeah, Glinda was a white witch and the East or West witch was a Dark witch. Maybe he could get a movie night going, Gretel might enjoy the film. The bad witch gets it in the end and the hero is a girl.
“So is your story legit? You were tricked by a candy house?” He paused, “It’s an admirable job, saving the innocent and purge the evil.”
He wondered if he ever really did anything like that. Sure, with the Avengers, he fought aliens and HYDRA goons, but weren’t they just doing their job. Careful, Bruce, the Nazis were just doing their jobs too. And they were on the wrong side of history. He’d like to think he was on the right side. Gretel was, even if she was in the future.
---
Gretel glanced up at him, briefly, her expression a small, possibly slightly awkward ‘thank you’ for what seemed like it might have been a compliment. She wasn’t always sure; even being forced into more social interaction than she’d gotten in her entire life over the last couple months, she found it difficult to read a lot of people here. Some people just clicked. She was thankful for those- and the possibility that Bruce might be one.
Her eyes went back to her work.
“We were lost in the woods,” she began. “Our father told us to wait, but he never came back- turned out the village hanged him- again, something we never knew until years later. After a few days of wandering and starving, we found the candy house- and, unfortunately, the hag that lived inside. She worked and beat me bloody for days while forcing Hansel to eat candy non-fucking-stop in order to eat him…He’s still sick from it to this day.” The slide of her blade on the glass vial made a cold, metallic whisper that filled the pause.
“She got sloppy and left her knife where I could reach. I gutted her and Hansel shoved her into her own oven. We’ve been killing witches ever since.”
----
Bruce looked a little disturbed, but the story itself was pretty gruesome, now he had to imagine a real person doing it. A real person he was speaking to. “I’m sorry about your parents.” Bruce’s parents were gone too, but that was a story for another occasion. He took a few steps forward to look at her work space. “So no candy corn for Hansel, got it. Some of the stuff they feed us is too sweet, too rich for me. I admit I like bland things.” It was all his stomach could handle with the radiation poisoning.
“What are you working on now? Just the flowers?”
---
Gretel didn’t press the issue; since arriving in this place, she’d discovered most everyone had some kind of traumatic past. She didn’t ask Bruce about his- if he decided to tell her, she would listen.
“Right now I’m making rose oil,” she explained. “It’s what I need for the dreamless sleep spell- fairly simple, save for the fact that it takes ten pounds of roses to make one vial of oil…” And ten pounds of roses equated to several bushels.
---
Bruce fiddled with his glasses, glad to have something to do with his hands. “Ten pounds? Wow. Are there that many bushes on the compound grounds?” He pulled his glasses off and let one arm rest on his shirt, so that they hung there.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He wasn’t sure if he was ready to share his story so willinging with Gretel. She was a nice girl but she didn’t deserve to fear Bruce if that’s what happened after she found out about his condition.